


Condoms Are No Laughing Matter

by zade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Condoms, Everyone is Queer, M/M, Meet-Cute, but like sarcastic meet-cute, i do not miss college at all, queer studies, safer sex talks, so many condoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt: "I took a bunch of free condoms from health services just because i could and they all fell out of my bag at once and now you’re staring at me weirdly"</p>
<p>After having successfully stolen at least tens of dollars of condoms from the school, and filling his bag, his pockets—really everything but his shoes—with condoms, Bellamy decided he would treat himself to a celebratory cup of coffee, because what was the point of totally-sanctioned-theft if not to pat yourself on the back afterwards?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Condoms Are No Laughing Matter

**Author's Note:**

> hateboners as always did me a beta bc they are the bestest
> 
> unrelated: this one time in high school i was in a play where me and two girls had to roller skate over several thousand loose condoms on a stage with a 6 foot drop to concrete. so there's that
> 
> title is a thing that was literally said to me in high school sex ed. what good times.

Bellamy was beginning to regret ever having anything to do with Clarke. Sure, she was great in a crisis, the best study buddy he had ever had, and could drink him under a table, but she also did things like ask Bellamy to run by Student Health to grab a “fuck-ton” (her words) of condoms for her safer sex talk that night.

The talk she had been planning for literal weeks. Bellamy was at least pretty sure that most times planning involved some sort of forethought, and possibly stealing your own condoms from Student Health.

After having successfully stolen at least tens of dollars of condoms from the school, and filling his bag, his pockets—really everything but his shoes—with condoms, Bellamy decided he would treat himself to a celebratory cup of coffee, because what was the point of totally-sanctioned-theft if not to pat yourself on the back afterwards?

He opted for the school café, because it was closer, and cheaper, even if the coffee tasted like someone trying to make coffee after having a cup of it described to them once, while blindfolded. But, it was cheaper.

He walked into the café and considered walking right back out. There, waiting at the counter for a food item, was Murphy, who was in both his civics and his lit classes, and who was smart and funny and sarcastic and irritating, and made Bellamy’s insides do that stupid squirmy thing.

He made his way to the coffee bar, pouring himself a cup and diluting it with sugar and milk so that it would taste like sugar and milk instead of “coffee.” Cup successfully in hand, Bellamy walked to the register to pay. 

He glanced up, and made very unexpected and intense eye contact with Murphy. Which. Well. Murphy nodded at him in greeting, and Bellamy wondered if that was a bro nod or a queer nod. He was almost certain that Murphy had been in his queer theory class freshman year, but honestly freshman year was a blur of anxiety and beer pong. He groped blindly for his wallet and immediately regretted having ever met Clarke, when the action was followed with the sound of several condoms hitting the floor.

His face was burning so hot he thought he could probably brew a better cup of coffee on it. Murphy’s face went from passive-neutral to suddenly viciously-happy and he cackled as Bellamy tried to gather up the condoms before he died of shame. He slammed a five on the counter (which was way too much money but he couldn’t just keep standing there), and bolted from the café.

Bellamy was relatively sure he wasn’t trailing condoms like a safer sex fairy, but honestly he was too embarrassed to check.

“Blake—hey, wait up!”

He turned around instinctively, even though he knew it was Murphy, coming to shovel more dirt onto his very fresh grave. Murphy caught up quickly, Styrofoam food container in one hand, several condoms in the other.

“Kill me now,” Bellamy muttered, and Murphy grinned even harder.

“These are yours, I believe,” Murphy said, ignoring him and smiling the most shit eating grin that Bellamy could even imagine, extending the condoms on an open palm. “Any reason why you’ve got a literal fuck ton of condoms?”

Bellamy winced. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Sex marathon?”

“Safer sex talk,” Bellamy clarified.

“Ah,” Murphy nodded sagely. “Well that was less than helpful.”

Bellamy blinked at him, suddenly very unsure if he was actually awake. He was pretty sure he and Murphy had never talked that much, and also pretty sure that he had had this exact dream before. “Unhelpful?”

Murphy guided him to a bench and sat down, crosslegged on it, like that was how normal people sat on benches, and gestured for Bellamy to sit, too, so he did. “See, one would assume, since you took intro to queer whatever frosh year that you were queer. But I hated everything you had to say about Mother Camp, so maybe you just got bumped.”

Which answered that question. He suddenly, vividly remembered that class. “Me? Jesus, did you even hear yourself bitching about The Well of Loneliness—Stephen is a great example of prior thoughts on the intersection of gender and sexuality. Every single lesbian in that class hated you.” 

Murphy looked murderous, but in the same way a wet kitten looks murderous, and Bellamy could barely keep from laughing. “She’s a poorly written Jesus archetype and she talks to animals, Bellamy. And the animals talk back!”

Bellamy was grinning, stupidly wide, almost so distracted he had forgotten bout the condoms. Actually, in no way, was he going to forget that until the day he died, but he was at least not thinking about it right now, which was surprising. “Are you all caught up in lit?”

Murphy groaned loudly. “Don’t even fucking remind me about The Great Gatsby I fucking hate that book, and I will fucking kill you myself, I swear to fucking god.”

Bellamy laughed and stood, offering Murphy a hands up. “Wanna borrow my notes, Murphy?” He leered, a little bit, but he couldn’t really help himself. “Gay subtext noted and cross-referenced.”

Murphy took the hand and pulled himself up, groaning exaggeratedly. “Fine, fine, bring me back to your den of inequity and give me your fucking notes, Bellamy.”

Bellamy laughed and made a move to go, but Murphy’s hand was still in his, warm and attached to Murphy, who was ridiculous and still very, very hot.

“By the way,” and Murphy’s face had somehow morphed when he was looking, from sneering and sexy, to somehow sort of shy? But still very sexy. “It’s John.”

Bellamy’s face, without the permission of his brain, exploded into a violent blush, and he could feel another condom about to slip from his pocket so he moved to shove it back in there, but Murphy—John got to it first.

Murphy held it for a second before pocketing it, a terrible sun-burn blush also staining his cheeks. “For later. You know. Just in case,” he explained awkwardly. “Are you gonna lead me to your stupid dorm or not? Jesus.”

Bellamy began walking, and Murphy was at his side within seconds, swearing and flushed, but very much there. Bellamy figured, barely stopping another condom from escaping, he probably owed Clarke big time. Ah, well. Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> i am racetrackthehiggins on tumblr and i am taking prompts for short fics! and i'm too lazy to link! sorry! love you! also i am so full of sads so please love me


End file.
